The blue kingfisher, flying over the still surface of the lake, and
peering downward curiously as he flew, saw into its depths as if they had
been clear glass. What he hoped to see was some small fish—chub, or
shiner, or yellow perch, or trout, basking incautiously near the surface.
What he saw was a sinister dark shape, elongated but massive, darting in
a straight line through the transparent amber, some three or four feet
below the surface. Knowing well enough what that meant—no fish so foolish
as to linger in such dread neighborhood—the kingfisher flew on
indignantly, with a loud clattering laugh like a rattle. He would do his
fishing, according to his usual custom, in the shallower waters along
shore, where the great black loon was less at home.
Darting straight ahead for an amazing distance, like a well-aimed
torpedo, the loon came to a point where the lake-bottom slanted upward
swiftly toward a bushy islet, over a floor of yellow sand that glowed in
the sun. Here he just failed to transfix, with his powerful dagger of a
bill, a big lake trout that hung, lazily waving its scarlet fins, beside
a rock. The trout’s golden-rimmed eyes detected the peril in time—just in
time—and with a desperate screw-like thrust of his powerful tail, he shot
aside and plunged into the shadowy deeps. The heavy swirl of his going
disturbed an eight-inch chub, which chanced at the moment to be groping
for larvæ in a muddy pocket beneath the rock. Incautiously it sailed
forth to see what was happening. Before it had time to see anything, fate
struck it. Caught in the vice of two iron mandibles, it was carried
quivering to the surface.
All power of escape crushed out of it by that saw-toothed grip, the
victim might safely have been dropped and devoured at leisure. But the
great loon was too hungry for leisure. Moreover, he was an expert and he
took no risks. With a jerk he threw the fish into the air, caught it as
it fell head first, and gulped it down. For a moment or two he floated
motionless, his small, fierce and peculiarly piercing eyes warily
scrutinizing the lake in all directions. Then, lifting his black head,
which gleamed in the sun with green, purple, and sapphire iridescence, he
gave vent to a strange wild cry like a peal of bitter laughter. The cry
echoed hollowly from the desolate shores of the lake. A moment or two
later it was answered, in the same hollow and disconcerting tones, and
from behind the islet his mate came swimming to meet him.
For a few minutes the two great birds swam slowly around each other,
uttering several times their weird cry. As they floated at their ease,
unalarmed, they sat high in the water, showing something of the clean
pearly whiteness of their breasts and under parts. Their sturdy, trimly
modelled bodies were about three feet in length, from the tips of their
straight and formidable green beaks to the ends of their short stiff
tails. Their heads, as we have seen, were of an intense and iridescent
black, their necks encircled by collars of black and white, their backs,
shoulders, and wings dull black, with white spots and bars. Their feet,
very large, broadly webbed, and set extraordinarily far back, almost like
those of a penguin, glimmered black as they fanned back and forth in the
clear amber water.
Suddenly some movement among the bushes along the near shore, perhaps two
hundred yards away, caught their watchful eyes. In an instant, by some
mysterious process, they had sunk their bodies completely below the
surface, leaving only their snaky heads and necks exposed to view. This
peculiar submerged position they held, it seemed, without difficulty. But
whatever it was that alarmed them, it was not repeated; and after perhaps
five minutes of cautious watchfulness, they slowly emerged and floated on
the surface. Presently the female swam back again behind the islet,
laboriously scrambled out upon the shore, waddled to her nest, and
settled herself once more to the task of brooding her two big gray-green,
brown-blotched eggs. It was the first week in June, and the eggs were
near hatching.
The pair of loons were restless and annoyed. Their lake, set in a lonely
valley, which was drained by a branch of the Upper Quah-Davic, had seemed
to them the perfection of solitude and remoteness. For three years now
they had been coming to it every spring with the first of the northern
flight. But this spring their solitude had been invaded. A pioneer, a
squatter, with a buxom wife and several noisy children, had come and
built a cabin on the shore of the lake. To be sure, the lake was large
enough to overlook and forget such a small invasion, but for the loons it
was a great matter. That cabin, those voices, and laughter, and
axe-strokes, and sometimes gun-shots, though almost a mile away from
their nesting-place, were a detestable and unpardonable intrusion.
The loon was just about to resume his fishing—a business which, on
account of his phenomenal appetite, took up most of his time—when once
more a movement in the bushes caught his vigilant eye. At the same
instant a flash of white fire jetted through the leafy screen, a vicious
report rang out, and a shower of shot cut the water into spurting streaks
all about him. But he was not there. Inconceivably swift, he had dived at
the flash itself. The lead that would have riddled him struck the empty
swirl where he had vanished. A lanky youth with a gun stepped out from
behind the bushes, stared in sulky disappointment, and presently strolled
off down the shore to look for less elusive game.
The shattered calm of the lake surface had time to rebuild itself before
the loon reappeared. A hundred yards away from the spot where he had
dived, his head thrust itself above the water, a tiny black speck on the
silvery sheen. It disappeared again instantly. When it once more came to
the surface, it was so far out from shore that its owner felt safe. After
a few moments devoted to inspection of the hunter’s retreating form, the
loon arose completely and sent a long derisive peal of his wild laughter
echoing down the lake. The lanky youth turned and shook his fist at him,
as if threatening to settle the score at a later day.
The loon had come by this time to a part of the lake where the depth was
not more than six or seven feet, and the bottom was of rich firm mud,
covered with rank growths. Here and there a solitary lily-plant, a stray
from the creamy-blossomed, nectar-breathing colony over in the near-by
cove, lifted to the surface its long pipe-like stems and flat sliding
disks of leaves. It was a favorite resort, this, of almost every kind of
fish that inhabited the lake, except, of course, of the minnows and other
little fry, who would have been promptly made to serve as food for their
bigger kinsmen had they ventured into so fatal a neighborhood.
Floating tranquilly, the loon caught sight of the silvery sides of a fat
chub, balancing just above the bottom, beside one of the slender pipes of
lily-stalk. The fish was lazily opening and closing its crimson gills,
indifferent and with a well-fed air. It hung at a depth of perhaps six
feet, and at a distance of perhaps sixteen or twenty. So smoothly as
scarcely to leave a swirl on the surface, the loon dived straight down,
then darted for the fish at a terrific pace. His powerful feet, folding
up and opening out at each lightning-swift stroke, propelled him like a
torpedo just shot from tube, and tiny bubbles, formed by the air caught
under his feathers, flicked upward along his course.
The chub caught sight of this shape of doom rushing upon him through the
golden tremor of the water. He shot off in a panic, seeking some deep
crevice or some weed-thicket dense enough to hide him. But the loon was
almost at his tail. There was no crevice to be found, and the weed
thickets were too sparse and open to conceal him. This way and that he
darted, doubling and twisting frantically around every stalk or stone.
But in spite of his bulk, the loon followed each turn with the agility of
an eel. The loosed silt boiled up in wreaths behind his violent passage,
and the weeds swayed in the wake of the thrusting webs. In less than a
minute the chase—the turmoil of which drove every other fish, large or
small, in terror from the feeding-ground—came suddenly to an end. Rising
abruptly with the fish gripped in his great beak, the loon burst out upon
the surface, sending shoreward a succession of circling ripples. Without
ceremony he gulped his meal. Then, swimming rather low in the water, and
with head thrust out before him, he hurried to his nesting-place on the
islet, as if he thought he had been too long away from his domestic
duties.
The spot on the islet where the loons had their nest was almost
unconcealed. It was in a grassy cup within four or five feet of the
water’s edge, and sheltered only by a thin screen of bushes on the
landward side. Toward the sky it was quite open. There had seemed to be
little need of concealment before the intruder, man, came to the lake.
The islet was too far from the main shore to be in danger from the visits
of foxes or bears, fishers or raccoons. And as for the sky—well, the loon
had little fear of anything that flew. Because of this lack of
apprehension from skyward, even his coloring was not very protective, his
glossy black, barred and mottled with pure white, being fairly
conspicuous against the grays, and greens, and browns which surrounded
the nest. Neither he nor his mate had any particular objection to being
seen by any marauder of the air. Even the murderous goshawk, or the
smaller but even more fearless duck-hawk, would know better than to swoop
down upon the uplifted dagger of a nesting loon. And as for the eagle,
though doubtless strong enough to master such an antagonist in the end,
he is wise enough to know that the loon’s punishing beak and bulldog
courage in defence of the nest would make the victory an expensive and
painful one.
But there was one enemy besides man whom the loons had cause to fear,
even on their secluded islet. They hated the mink with a well-founded
hate. He could easily swim out to discover and rob their nest; and if he
should find it for a moment unguarded, his agility would enable him to
keep well clear of their avenging wrath. On the nest neither male nor
female feared to meet the mink’s attack, their lithe necks and unerring
quickness of thrust being sufficient defence even against so formidable a
robber. But their movements on land—an awkward, flopping series of
waddles—were so slow that, in the case of a mink arriving, the precious
eggs would be safe only while actually covered. A big mink had been seen
that very morning, prowling down the opposite shore, and both birds were
uneasy. They seemed now to be taking counsel upon that or some other
equally important matter.
For the next few days, however, the life of the loons was tranquil, with
good fishing to content their appetites and no untoward event to make
them anxious. Then came a day when the patient mother on her nest could
not conceal her happiness and her excitement, when the male, forgetful of
meals, stood for hours at a time in interested expectancy beside the
nest. The strong chicks within the eggs were beginning to stir and chip
the shell. It was not the day that the big mink should have chosen for
his expedition to the islet.
For several weeks the mink had been on the point of swimming out to
explore that little patch of rocks and grass and bushes, sentinelled by
one dark fir-tree. Such a secluded spot, out of reach of most forest
prowlers, might well afford something special in the way of good hunting.
Hitherto one thing or another had always diverted him from his purpose,
and he had gone off on another trail. But to-day nothing intervened. His
long, lithe, black body curving like a snake’s, he ran down the bank,
lifted his triangular vicious-looking head for a survey of the lake, and
plunged into the water with a low splash.
Now, the vision of the mink, though sharp enough at close quarters, has
nothing like the power and penetration of the loon’s. The mink could see
the islet, the rocks, the bushes, the sentinel fir-tree, but he could not
make out the figure of the loon standing beside the nest. The loon, on
the other hand, could see him with absolute distinctness, as if not more
than fifty feet away.
As has been already noted, the day was not well chosen for the mink’s
trip to the islet. The loon stiffened himself with anger, and his round
bright eyes hardened implacably. The mother settled down closer over the
stirring eggs, and turned her head to stare malevolently at the long
pointed trail which the swimmer’s head was drawing on the lake surface.
Her mate stood for some seconds as motionless as a charred stump. Then,
slipping noiselessly down the bank, he glided into the water and dived
from sight.
The lake was deep at this point, the main channel of the stream—upon
which the lake was threaded like a great oval bead on a slender
string—running between the islet and the mainland. The loon plunged
nearly to the bottom, that he might run no risk of being detected by the
enemy. More than ever like a torpedo, as he pierced the brown depths, he
darted forward to the attack. Two or three great lake trout, seeing the
approach of the black rushing shape, made way in terror and hid in the
deepest weed-patch they could find. But the loon was not thinking of
fish. The most tempting tit-bit in the lake at that moment might have
brushed against his feathers with impunity.
At last, still far ahead of him, he saw the enemy’s approach. As he
looked upward through the water, the under surface was like a radiant but
half transparent mirror, on which the tiniest floating object, even a fly
or a wild-cherry petal, stood out with amazing distinctness. The dark
body of the swimming mink was large and black and menacing against its
setting of silver, and the ripples spread away from his chin, ever
widening, till they faded on the shore behind him. The loon kept straight
on till the mink was almost above him, then he turned and shot upward.
Thinking, doubtless, of some wild duck’s nest, well filled with large
green eggs, which he would devour at his ease after sucking the blood of
the brooding mother, the mink swam on steadily toward the islet. The worn
gray rocks and fringing grass grew nearer, and the details began to
separate themselves to his fierce little eyes. Presently he made out the
black shape of the female loon sitting on her nest and eying him. That
promised something interesting. The blood leaped in his veins, and he
raced forward at redoubled speed, for the mink goes into his frays with a
rampant blood-lust that makes him always formidable, even to creatures of
twice his weight.
It was just at this moment that his alert senses took note of a strange
vague heaving in the water beneath him, a sort of dull and broad
vibration. Swiftly he ducked his head, to see if the whole lake-bottom
was rising up at him. But he had no time to see anything. It was as if a
red-hot iron was jabbed straight upward through the tender back part of
his throat, and a swarm of stars exploded in his brain. Then he knew
nothing more. The loon’s steel-like bill had pierced to and penetrated
the base of the skull, and with one convulsive kick, the robber’s body
straightened itself out upon the water. Shaking his head like an angry
terrier, he wrenched his bill free and hurried back to reassure his mate,
leaving the body of the mink to sink languidly to the bottom. Here, among
the weeds, it was presently discovered by the eels and crawfish, faithful
scavengers, who saw to it that there should be nothing left to pollute
the sweet lake-waters.
On the following day the two awkward, dingy-hued, downy chicks were
hatched, and thenceforth the parents were kept busy supplying their
extremely healthy appetites. The havoc wrought among the finny hordes—the
trout and “togue”[1] and chub, the red-fins, shiners, and minnows—was
enormous. The loon chicks, enterprising and industrious, speedily learned
to help their parents by hunting the small fry in the sunlit shallows
along shore.
But the loon family were not the only ardent fishermen on those waters.
The new-comers, the man family, they too liked fish, and had no mean
skill in catching them. In fact, their methods were stupidly and
slaughterously destructive, well calculated to quite draw out the lake in
two or three seasons. They set a big purse-seine right across the
channel, and, worst of all, they dragged the deep dark pools, wherein,
now that the waters were growing warmer under the mid-June sun, the
biggest trout and “togue” were wont to gather for coolness. Their own
thought was to get their larder well stocked with salted fish against the
coming winter. Future winters might look out for themselves.
For some time the great loon, though more enterprising and wide-ranging
than his prudent mate, had kept careful distance from the nets and
net-stakes, as from all the other visible manifestations of man. But at
last he grew accustomed to the tall immovable stakes in the channel which
supported the purse-seine. He concluded that they were harmless, or even
impotent, and decided to investigate them.
As he approached, the dim meshes of the net, shimmering vaguely in the
bright water, excited his suspicions. He sheered off warily and swam
around the seine at a prudent distance. At last he found the opening.
There seemed to be no danger anywhere in sight, so, after some
hesitation, he sailed in. The ordered curving rows of the stakes, the top
line of the net, beaded with a few floats, here and there rising above
the water—it was all very curious, but it did not seem in any way
hostile. He eyed it scornfully. For what was neither dangerous nor useful
he had a highly practical contempt. Having satisfied his curiosity, and
allayed a certain uneasiness with which he had always regarded the great
set-net, he turned to swim out again. But at this moment he chanced to
look down.
The sight that met his eyes was one to stir the blood of any fisherman.
He was just over the “purse”—that fatal chamber whence so few who enter
it ever find the exit. The narrow space was crowded with every kind of
fish that frequented the lake, except for the slim eels and the small fry
who could swim through the meshes. It was the chance of a loon’s
lifetime. Flashing downward, he darted this way and that ecstatically
among the frantic prisoners, transfixing half a dozen in succession, to
make sure of them, before he seized a big trout for his immediate meal.
Gripping the victim savagely in his bill, he slanted toward the surface,
and plunged into a slack bight of the net.
Luckily for him, he was within a foot of the air before he struck the
deceitful meshes. Carried on by the impetus of his rush, he bore the net
upward with him, and emerged into the full sun. In the shock of his
surprise he dropped the fish, and at the same time gulped his lungs full
of fresh air. For perhaps half a minute, he thrust and flapped and tore
furiously, expecting to break through the elusive obstacle, which yielded
so freely that he could get no hold upon it, yet always thrust him back
with a suave but inexorable persistence. At length, realizing himself
foiled in this direction, he sank downward like a stone, thinking to back
out of the struggle and rise somewhere else. But, to his horror, the
bight of the net came down with him, refusing to be left. In his
struggles he had completely enmeshed himself.
And now, probably for the very first time in a not uneventful life, the
great loon lost his head. He began to fight blindly, overwhelmed by panic
terror. Plunging, kicking, beating with half-fettered wings, striking
with his beak in a semi-paralyzed fashion because he had not room to
stretch his neck to its full length, he was soon utterly exhausted.
Moreover, he was more than half drowned. At last, a dimness coming over
the golden amber light, he gave up in despair. With a feeble despairing
stroke of his webbed feet, he strove to get back to the surface. Happily
for him, the net in this direction was not relentless. It yielded without
too much resistance, and the hopelessly entangled prisoner came to the
top. Lying there in the meshes, he could at least draw breath.
When, a little later in the day, he saw a boat approaching up the lake
with two of the dreaded man creatures in it, he gave one final mighty
struggle, which lashed the water into foam and sent the imprisoned fish
into fresh paroxysms; and then, with the stoicism which some of the wild
creatures can display in the moment of supreme and hopeless peril, he lay
quite still, eying the foe defiantly.
One of the beings in the boat was that lanky youth whose attempt to shoot
the loon had been such a conspicuous failure. The other was the lanky
youth’s father, the pioneer himself. At the sight of the trussed-up
captive, the youth shouted exultantly—
“It’s that durn loon what’s eatin’ all the fish in the lake! I’ll fix his
fishin’!” and, lifting his oar from the thole-pins, he raised it to
strike the helpless bird.
“Don’t be sich a _durn_ fool, Zeb!” interrupted the father. “Ye’ll get
more money for that bird alive, down to Fredericton, than all the fish in
the net’s worth. A loon like that ain’t common. He’s a beauty!”
The youth dropped his oar and leaned over to snatch up the prize. But he
jumped back with alacrity as his father snapped: “_Look out!_”
“What for?” he demanded, rather sheepishly.
“Why,” replied the older man, “he’ll stick you like a pig with that knife
beak of his’n, if ye don’t look sharp! Reach me yer jacket. We’ll wrap up
his head till we kin get him clear o’ the net.”
The youth obeyed. Helplessly swathed in the heavy homespun jacket, whose
strong man smell enraged and daunted him, the great bird was disentangled
from the net and lifted into the boat. Laughingly the father passed the
bundle along the gunwale to his son.
But swathing a powerful bird in a jacket is a more or less inexact
undertaking, as many have found in experimenting with wounded hawks and
eagles. By some lucky wriggle the loon got his head free. Instantly, with
all the force of his powerful neck-muscles, he drove his beak half-way
through the fleshy part of his old enemy’s arm. With a startled yell the
lad dropped him. He bounded from the gunwale and rolled into the water.
The man snatched at him and caught a flopping sleeve of the jacket. The
jacket promptly and neatly unrolled, and the loon, diving deep, was out
of sight in an eye-wink, leaving his would-be jailers to express
themselves according to their mood. When he came to the surface for
breath, he was a hundred yards away, and on the other side of the boat,
and as he thrust little more than his beak and nostrils above water, he
was not detected.
A few minutes more, and he was laughing derisively from the other side of
the islet, swimming in safety with his mate and his two energetic chicks.
Nevertheless, for all his triumph and the discomfiture of his foes, the
grim experience had put him out of conceit with the lake. That same
night, when the white moon rode high over the jagged spruce ridges, a
hollow globe of enchantment, he led his little family straight up the
river, mile after mile, till they reached another lake. It was a small
lake, shut in by brooding hills, with iron shores, and few fish in its
inhospitable waters, but it was remote from man and his works. So here
the outraged bird was content to establish himself till the hour should
return for migrants to fly south.